laughed again, and they both

laughed.

“Before Shrewsbury, and at Shrewsbury, and ever since

Shrewsbury,” pursued Carton, “you have fallen into your rank,

and I have fallen into mine. Even when we were fellow-students in

the Student-Quarter of Paris, picking up French, and French law,

and other French crumbs that we didn’t get much good of, you

were always somewhere and I was alwaysnowhere.”

“And whose fault was that?”

“Upon my soul, I am not sure that it was not yours. You were

always driving and riving and shouldering and pressing, to that

restless degree that I had no chance for my life but in rust and

repose. It’s a gloomy thing, however, to talk about one’s own past,

with the day breaking. Turn me in some other direction before I

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

go.”

“Well then! Pledge me to the pretty witness,” said Stryver,

holding up his glass. “Are you turned in a pleasant direction?”

Apparently not, for he became gloomy again.

“Pretty witness,” he muttered, looking down into his glass. “I

have had enough of witnesses today and tonight: who’s your pretty

witness?”

“The picturesque doctor’s daughter, Miss Manette.”